Uncle Fun and Sparky Land

Hello, all you lucky people:

     …and you must be lucky—after all, you’ve found me. Or at least, what I have to say, courtesy of the nice young gentleman who runs this blog. I’m entitled to call him young, because I knew him when. In fact, I knew his mother when, too. We were both in the chorus of the original production of H.M.S. Pinafore. On off-days, we double-dated Gilbert and Sullivan.

     But never mind about my age. With my kind, it doesn’t show so much. And never mind that anyway, because I haven’t given you a proper introduction yet. If you’ve been following this blog (so, the answer to that is “no”), you’ll have heard tell of the exploits of someone called Milady M’Dear, a legendary Helen-of-Troy-like beauty with boundless supernatural powers and more curves than the detour off a side road in the Himalayas (and I’m modest, too!). So, that’s me already. Glad to know you. If you want to know more about where I fit in with dear old Uncle Fun and all the gang, just click on these fancy coloured letters. The rest of this particular story is now supposed to be tagged with the label “Sparky in TV Limbo”, but that doesn’t seem to be working, and because it’s on the internet, fixing it involves divine intervention rather than magic, so I’m afraid it’s out of my league. Struggle through to find the other chapters as best you can.

     Anyway, down to business. I guess you could call me a witch, although I prefer the term “sorceress”—it marks me out as a lady of definite refinement and accomplishments, and not one of those riff-raff poseurs who think that putting on a lot of eye liner has anything to do with the supernatural (unless it’s closing time at your local, but a lot of weird magic happens then, now doesn’t it?). Since this is the second Friday the 13th on the slate for this year, I’ve been tabbed to give all you fine folks a professional ’s word on bad luck, and what to do to rid yourself of it. My caseload always ramps up towards Friday the 13th‘s, what with people wanting jinxes taken off them, and other people wanting jinxes they can blame on Friday the 13th put on, so all I was able to come up with was a bunch of point-form notes. The editor of this blog assures me that theme-related lists are starting to become the path of least resistance in this space, so who am I to buck a trend (especially one that gets me out of a little extra work)?

     Well, here goes nothing…

«  By far the most effective way of removing the evil eye is something known as The Nice Nostril. The only hard part is that you have to be able to flare your nostrils alternately in time with a 1954 mono LP recording of Antal Doráti conducting the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra in the 1812 Overture. Don’t worry if you don’t get it right the first time—hardly anybody does.

«  If you’ve recently had a curse put on you by a gypsy (and who hasn’t—you just don’t know it yet), it can be easily remedied. Just waltz topless into the nearest branch of a bank you once had an account with, and spin counter-clockwise on your left heel, chanting “avaunt, thou evil spirit, I abjure thee.” Keep this up for thirty minutes without getting arrested, and you’re in the clear.

«  On the other hand, it’s a little harder to get rid of bad luck that’s being sent your way by someone with a voodoo doll. The only thing that works reliably is to acquire a set of antique mother-of-pearl tie tacks, and pin them onto the fronds of the palm tree on the flag flying over any Haitian embassy or consulate.

«  If you think that’s tough, warding off the kind of evil that comes from a chance encounter with a disgruntled pixie, wood sprite, will-o’-the-wisp or leprechaun is next to impossible, now that spraying forested areas with a mixture of St. John’s wort and napalm has been declared illegal in many places. Your best bet these days is to boil the UPC codes from wheat germ bought at a health food store that has recently moved to a new location in a distillate made of equal parts cider vinegar and watercress broth, and hope for the best.

«  Goblins, though, are fairly simple to deal with. They accept bribes. Payment in kind rather than negotiables is preferred; if you don’t ask for a receipt, neither of you has to declare it at tax time.

«  You also have a simple recourse if bad luck is coming your way because of an offence or slight to a deceased ancestor. All you have to do is round up an astrophysicist and a notary public. One declares that time has been both relative and cyclical since the Big Bang, while the other helps you cut your ancestor retroactively out of your will. That oughta make the old S.O.B. smarten up in a hurry.

«  Contrary to what some people may tell you, rubbing the soles of your feet with Cheez Whiz that has been left out in the sun until it separates is not a reliable method of keeping away Pennsylvania Dutch hexes. It works pretty well at keeping away everything else, though—and everyone else, too.

«  Finally—and don’t tell anybody I told you this—if you’re going through one of those stretches where it seems that everything’s conspiring against you, become a fan of the Minnesota Vikings. The fates will take pity on you for your naïve, childlike faith, and let you have at least a half-decent chance of breaking even on any given day. One thing, though—don’t bet on the Vikings to actually win, or the whole sad cycle will begin again.

 

     That’s my bit, folks…gotta run. I’ve got a rush order to make some more confusing evidence suddenly come to light in some election or other that happened in Canada last summer. If you’ll pardon the expression, wish me luck.

Milady M. M’Dear

(Potion-brewer extraordinaire and maker of discreet incantations for the gentry)